Cleansing
by Ansuz
Summary: Zuko rages against his new life as a commoner working in a teashop. A chance encounter with the Avatar has mixed results. Roughly based around the Tales of Ba Sing Se. Foreshadows Season 2 finale. [Oneshot, Zukoinsight]


Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender. I make no money off of this story. Wah.

Warning: Murderous thoughts. Zuko emo-ness. What's new?

Onsen: a type of public bathing house (in Japan) fuelled by hot springs.

Bandai: basically a front desk inside the onsen where you can buy razors, shampoo, drinks, ice cream, etc.

Champa: a flower from a plant typically used to make hair oils, which were (loose) precursors to modern day shampoo. (It's a stretch, but I like it.)

Papyrus (reeds): used to make paper-like sheets in ancient Egypt and several of its conquering neighbours, but I thought it'd be a neat insert here.

Note: the following symptoms are based on a borderline Panic Disorder. Zuko's always knee-deep in his own emo crap. High time he started showing the signs.

Hehe, enjoy!

* * *

Cleansing

* * *

Zuko opened his eyes. The sounds of Ba Sing Se swirled all around him. Haggling, crying, bustling, moving people. He sat up, but froze when his heart throbbed erratically under his sternum. It was a palpitation. He sucked in a shuddering breath and exhaled slowly. His short hair clung to his forehead. 

He stood up and donned the same outfit he had worn for the past several weeks. The teashop was quiet. Iroh sat at farthest table, a cup of tea nestled between his calloused palms. His eyes were shut. He was drawing in deep, meditative breaths.

"Uncle?"

"Zuko. You're awake. Do you feel better now?" He sipped his tea, furtively studying his nephew's appearance.

"What happened?"

Iroh paused, cup half-way to his lips. "You passed out yesterday. Don't you remember?" He sighed at the dour silence. "The doctor says you must rest. Why don't you take the day off? Relax a little."

Zuko scowled. A series of hard, unsteady kicks to the back of his sternum dissolved his scathing reply. He splayed his fingers protectively over his heart and sat beside his uncle. "Maybe," he admitted quietly. "Where are the public baths?"

"Not very far." Iroh rubbed his chin quizzically. "I...think there's some five streets down." He smiled to himself and gestured to the front door. "Better hurry. The customers will start arriving soon."

"You can't run things alone," Zuko objected flatly. The meaty flutter under his ribs intensified.

"Get out of my shop."

"What?"

"You heard me." Iroh smiled mildly. "I don't want to see you again until dark. Shoo."

Zuko scowled ferociously, but his uncle remained unmoved. "Fine," he sighed petulantly and stood up. A slice of sunlight caught his eyes and he winced at its morning intensity. "I slept through the afternoon?"

"And all night, and all day yesterday," Iroh added dryly, brow arched. He ignored his nephew's astonished look and pointed to the door. "Now go. You need a bath."

There was a mutinous pause. Zuko's lips were a bloodless line as he strode out of the teashop and into Ba Sing Se's hectic atmosphere. The morning air was heavy and smelled like unwashed bodies, dust, and fried food from the stand on the opposite side of the street. Zuko's stomach lurched rebelliously, and he strode briskly down the road with his face averted.

Ba Sing Se's public baths were built according to their context. Their proximity to the palace meant the bathhouse was more ornate (and expensive) than most. Iroh had had the good fortune to acquire passes to the local onsen. Zuko approached it, eyeing the knife-faced bath keeper who sat reading by the door. Their eyes met. The dislike was instant and mutual.

"Pass, please." The bath keeper's voice was low-pitched and bored. He grasped Zuko's proof of membership impatiently. His eyes gleamed black in the shade cast by the bath's overhung roof. "Here," he said after a moment and tossed it on the ground.

Zuko gazed stonily at the bath keeper, but bent down and retrieved the thin sheet of papyrus. He studied the man's face before stepping through the door. The savage slant of his brow said enough.

The attendant sitting at the bandai smiled nervously. "Is there anything you would like to purchase, sir?" She gestured to the shaving blades, soap, towels, and small vials of champa oil arranged neatly on the nearby table. He stopped walking and stared. "Is something wrong?" She asked.

Zuko inhaled deeply, heart thudding heavily against his ribs. "No," he said after a moment and walked past. Her concerned expression pressed against his back.

The air was humid, riddled with tendrils of steam. He pushed aside the blue curtain and was pleased to see the changing room was empty. Everything was quiet. Zuko undressed quickly and put his clothes and straw rope sandals into a wooden slot. He opened the sliding door and sighed. The baths were also empty. Light from the high, narrow windows landed in buttery rectangles on the floor. He scowled at the large picture of Be Sing Se's outer wall and took pleasure sitting in the bath underneath it, unclean, polluting the water for other (earthbending) customers.

Quiet.

It was a rare thing in Ba Sing Se.

Zuko sighed and rubbed his forehead. His heart had stopped its mad, jack-rabbit rhythm and the disconcerting awareness in his chest receded. He leaned back in the bath and thought of nothing outside of the relief of hot water and solitude. The boiler behind the wall whispered softly. Water condensed on the walls and floor, shining like glass beads. Time went unmeasured. The sun-yellow blocks changed colour and crept across the floor. Outside the world marched on, muffled, distant, unimportant.

Three girls walked inside. Zuko could hear the slap of their bare feet, their echoing voices, their invisible bodies slipping into the water. He studied the wall that divided the men's side from the women's, trying to imagine faces that fit the voices, but their garbled half-words defied imagination. Zuko settled on imagining their backs, preferably walking out of the onsen.

Zuko rolled his shoulders and stood up, half-listening to the conversation taking place on the other side. He couldn't decipher much, but "brat" and "drowning" were mentioned often and indignantly. He smiled at their aggravation and wrapped a towel around his waist. The air felt crisp. He walked out of the bathing room, cold but refreshed.

He was in the process of dressing when the attendant greeted someone else. A man. Two. Zuko scowled and finished tying his sash. He pulled the bundle of used clothes and towels from their holding place, stepped back, and bumped into someone else. He froze, back straight, neck tingling.

"Oops! Sorry 'bout that." The familiar voice drifted away, completely at ease. Conversation continued towards the opposite side of the room, sprinkled with chortling.

**_The Avatar._**

Zuko slowly turned his head. It _was_ the Avatar. He looked away, face burning. He appeared so unkempt and low-born neither he nor the water tribe warrior had recognized him. They hadn't given him a second glance. Zuko held his breath, suffocated the rage that swelled in his throat. His fingers tingled, ready to ignite.

"Sooo, Sokka. Did you meet that girl again?"

_The Avatar. Here. Unguarded. With me. _

"Pshh, no! And I don't wanna. Haikus are stupid."

"Uhh-huh." There was a swishing sound. They were undressing. "I get it."

_Kill the boy. Catch the Avatar. _..._But Uncle...?_

"What's that supposed to mean? I don't want to meet her. It's not like I can't. Are you accusing me of something, Aang?"

"Nope."

_Move. Kill the boy. Kill the boy and take the Avatar. They think they're safe. They suspect nothing. They're vulnerable. Uncle can make his own way. Everything will change. _

Zuko turned around, saw the unprotected curves of their spines.

_My way out. _

"I resent what you're implying, Aang! You don't think I could go back there and—"

"Oh, no. I don't think that at all." The Avatar laughed. His shoulders bobbed.

The rage rose with the flame. Zuko raised his arm, stretched his index and middle finger in perfect form. The water tribe warrior would feel nothing.

_Pity_.

Fire ignited along his fingertips, hot-blue in the humid air. Zuko stepped forward soundlessly and aimed his hand at the other boy's neck. The Avatar bent over, hands scrabbling for something on the slick tile floor.

"Oh no! My whistle."

There was a pregnant pause."Hey...don't worry, Aang. We'll find him." The boy put a reassuring hand on the Avatar's shoulder. They stood that way for a moment. Still and silent.

_Perfect_.

Zuko smiled—

And clutched his chest. It was sudden and crippling: a knife stabbing him from the inside. He couldn't breathe. The room teetered precariously. He turned away, sucking loud, desperate breaths. The boy—Sokka—glanced over his shoulder, brow furrowed, ready to complain.

"I found it."

"Good." A distrustful pause. "Let's go, Aang." And then, further, quieter. "That guy was listening to us. Weirdo."

Footsteps. Slapping feet. The soft scrape of a sliding door. Muffled voices. Sloshing water. Laughter. It all echoed delicately between the clean bathhouse walls. Heat and steam escaped the bathing room and weaved past his ankles. He sucked in deep, mist-riddled gulps of air. The whole world felt off-center.

_There's still time. Follow them. Kill the boy. Capture the Avatar. _

The attendant pushed the curtain aside. "Sir...are you alright?"

_Kill Sokka and get Aang! _

She glanced at his face and stepped into the changing room, uncomfortable but determined. "Shall I get a doctor?"

_I...can't. _

Zuko pushed himself away from the wall. "No," he muttered and picked up his bundle of clothes. His expression staunched the flow of questions. She watched him storm out of the bathhouse with an open mouth. The stone-faced keeper was silent, too absorbed in his reading for peasants. The sun was low and sullen on the horizon.

The streets were busy. The Jasmine Dragon was busier. Zuko slipped through the back entrance, blood pounding in his ears. The storeroom was perfumed by several potent herbs and spices. He inhaled deeply, absorbing the semi-familiar smell of it—of Uncle's work—and placed his palm over his chest. For a long time, he stood there. Doing nothing, thinking nothing. He was rewarded with silence. Submerged in the earthy smells of tea ingredients, he could breathe again. His heart settled reluctantly.

Iroh appeared in the doorway. "Zuko? I thought I told you—"

"Well, I'm here!" Zuko suddenly threw his clothes against the wall, rattling several key ingredients lined along the nearby shelves. "I hate this city. Why did we come here?"

Iroh inclined his head. "You're not following the doctor's orders very well."

"I went to the bathes. I'm relaxed." He glanced at Iroh's face. "You need help."

Iroh sighed and turned towards the hall. "It would be a great help if you recovered. I can't have you swooning like a princess." He chuckled from deep in his belly. "The customers will think I'm working my poor nephew to death."

Zuko scowled ferociously, but didn't argue. He walked across the room and picked up the clothes he had thrown. The tightness in his chest radiated down his left arm with every thump of his pulse. He straightened, flexing his fingers.

"It hurts," he admitted quietly.

"Zuko, this is an illness of the mind. It's your nerves, not your body." Iroh clapped a reassuring hand on his nephew's shoulder. "I've seen this in soldiers before. All you need is to _relax. _Regain your strength."

A fit of laughter echoed down the hall. Iroh glanced over his shoulder, expression preoccupied. Zuko understood.

"Go. I'm fine." He met his uncle's stare stoically.

Iroh sighed and dropped his arm. "Sleep," was all he said, suddenly tired. Zuko dipped his chin obediently and followed the old general down the hall.

"Good night, Uncle." He stopped at his room, hand gasping the sliding door.

"Good night, Zuko." Iroh cast him one last glance before disappearing around the corner. His tone was resigned, tinged by disappointment.

Zuko frowned and stepped into his room. He tossed his clothes aside and began to undress the ones he had put on, glancing at the innocuous chest sitting under his window. He approached it, opened it, and swiftly donned its contents with the ease of long acquaintance.

The mask felt heavy. It always did.

He wrapped the twinned pommel of his dao broadswords in black cloth to hide their reflective gold design. When that was done, he sheathed them and positioned himself near the window.

The sun had sunk below the horizon. All he needed to do was wait until the light faded.

* * *

I know, a little bit AU, but oh well. And I know no one in their right minds would spend the day in a hot bath, but Zuko's an emotionally crippled firebender. That's my excuse.

Thanks for reading. R+R if ya want.


End file.
